


calaMity

by 8ucky8arnes



Series: fragMents [6]
Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Season 2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 09:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16573775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ucky8arnes/pseuds/8ucky8arnes
Summary: His jaw tightened and John wanted nothing than to reach out and take her hand, tofeelthat steady pulse against his fingertips, to feel the warmth and the solidness and the softness of her skin. But he couldn’t…He couldn’t touch her right now…not when he was like this. Not when he was teetering on the edge of his self-control, hisrestraint, so close to spiraling down into that abyss again, into a darkness that wanted nothing more than to rip and break and tear aparteverythingin frustration, in grief, inrage…





	calaMity

_Ta-thump, ta-thump, ta-thump_

John watched as Clarice slept off the effects of the gas, fingers digging into his temples. His senses made note of every breath, every flutter of her eyelashes, every brush of fabric against her skin, every heartbeat…

His jaw tightened and John wanted nothing than to reach out and take her hand, to _feel_ that steady pulse against his fingertips, to feel the warmth and the solidness and the softness of her skin. But he couldn’t…

_“Shatter!”_

John squeezed his eyes shut against the memory and the sound of a bullet tearing through him, pieces of Shatter’s crystalline body crumbling to the ground before the unmistakable thud followed. Another life taken, another friend gone…

So many mutants _gone…_

_“Do you think I’m going to let you destroy the rest of what we’ve built?”_

The armrest of the chair splintered as he clenched his fist just a little too tightly.

His eyes snapped open and he uncurled his fingers, slivers of wood falling to the carpet.

He couldn’t touch her right now…not when he was like this. Not when he was teetering on the edge of his self-control, his _restraint_ , so close to spiraling down into that abyss again, into a darkness that wanted nothing more than to rip and break and tear apart _everything_ in frustration, in grief, in _rage_ …

God, he wanted to _scream_.

_“It’s gas! Everybody get out! Run!”_

_Clarice crumpled almost instantly, coughing once before passing out…_

He tore a hand through his hair, the dull pain just barely pulling him back from the edge. John growled under his breath, hands curling into fists against his pounding skull, itching to punch something… _anything_ until his knuckles bruised and his skin split...

_It had taken everything in him to lift her into his arms, spots encroaching on his vision as he stumbled through the haze behind Marcos and the others. He coughed, his throat on fire as he choked on the gas…_

He ground his teeth when he lifted his eyes from his lap, the darkness and anger retreating just enough for him to _breathe_ as his eyes traced the sleep-softened lines of her face: from the curve of her cheekbones to the slope of her jaw…

_“God, you are so beautiful.”_

John pinched the bridge of his nose as his eyes began to sting, but the tears broke free anyway. An invisible hand reached inside his chest, prying apart his ribcage to take another swipe at his mangled heart.

There had been a moment back in Baltimore, as Naya and Skylar had hefted him to his feet, where his mind had short-circuited…when he’d looked back at her crumpled form and hadn’t seen Clarice lying lifelessly on the ground…

He’d seen Gus, covered in ash and blood…

_“I’ll make them pay for what they did to you.”_

He’d seen Sonya, vacant blue-green eyes staring at _him_ …

_“I promise you, we’ll find justice for her.”_

“John?”

His head snapped up, meeting her eyes with a small smile, “Hey.”

She frowned, pushing herself up, “John…what happened?”

“Shatter’s dead…and the others…”

She sucked in a sharp breath, reaching out, “John…”

“We couldn’t…” He shook his head, that dark anger writhing under his skin as he pulled away from her. He couldn’t hurt her now, not after the images his mind conjured up kept spinning him in circles…he would tip over the edge then. He shot to his feet, “ _I_ couldn’t…”

“John…”

He paced the length of their bedroom, “All those people…”

Clarice stepped into his path, hands held up pleadingly, “John _please_ …please just _look at me_ …”

His entire body went rigid, “Stay back.”

Her heartbeat increased and she stopped. “Okay…alright.”

_She’s scared._ He winced at the thought, lifting his gaze.

Her own face was streaked with tears, but her voice was steady, “Just talk to me.”

“What’s there to talk about, Clarice? I screwed up… _again_.”

She didn’t jump when his fist went through the drywall like paper and she didn’t move closer when his shoulders began to shake, at least not at first. Her pulse steadied and she let out a shaky breath when he pulled his hand out and slid to the floor.

“People keep dying and I…I don’t know how many more friends I can lose.”

Clarice said nothing, taking the hand still coated in plaster. “Come on.”

He shook his head, “Clarice…”

“Nope, no more arguing. Get up.” She tugged on his hand, “Come on.”

John looked at the woman in front of him, the strong beautiful soul that didn’t shy away from him in his anger or his grief. She wasn’t afraid of him…had _never_ been afraid of him. She hadn’t judged for even a second as he’d bared his soul to her.

_What had he done in this life to deserve her?_

A small smile, “Are you just going to keep staring at me or are you actually going to stand up?”

Her expression chased away the lingering darkness…for now.

He returned the small smile, hand still in hers as he stood.

She brushed the dust off his hand before pressing a kiss to his knuckles like they hadn’t just been put through a wall, looking up through her lashes with those electric eyes. “Go get a shower, alright? Then come to bed.”

He nodded once before parting.

The shower was quick, methodical, John stepping out not five minutes later in a fresh pair of sweats and a tank top to find Clarice wearing only one of his shirts. _Gods…_ The sight left him breathless. “So beautiful.”

She just smiled at him and reached out. “Come on.”

He observed the light as it played over the skin and muscle and bone of her hand, reflecting off the chipped nail polish and fine hairs. He could see the pulse thrumming in her wrist, could almost feel the warmth of her blood…

“I’m not going to break, John…I’m not made of glass.”

His eyes flicked to the remains of the chair, then the hole in the wall, both joining the long list of things he’d broken in their apartment. He’d rather plan a trip to the hardware store than the infirmary. _If he hurt her_ …he shook his head. “Right now…you might as well be.”

“I trust you, John.” She kept her hand outstretched, “I always have.”

_You shouldn’t_. He swallowed, “Clarice, I’m sorry, I can’t…”

She lowered her hand, her smile tinged with sadness, “It’s alright. Just come to bed?”

He watched as she slid under the sheets and rolled onto her side, purple hair spilling over the pillows as she looked at him with those vibrant eyes and like a moth to flame, he joined her. Keeping space between them, he did the same.

She combed the damp strands from his face, knuckles brushing along his temple.

He closed his eyes at the touch.

_How was she so gentle with him?_ He didn’t deserve it…

She closed the distance, drawing him closer.

He stiffened, “Clarice…”

“Do you trust me, John?”

_With my life…_ he opened his eyes. “Yes.”

“Then come here.”

Like before, he let her guide him, not applying even the barest of pressures to her as she pushed herself up and his brought his arm around his waist and rested his head against her chest. While he was nearly as stiff as a board the entire time, she was so at ease with him.

“ _Breathe_ John.” She murmured into his hair, “Take a breath and relax.”

_Ta-thump, ta-thump, ta-thump_

A shudder went through him as her heart beat against his ear, steady and calm despite all she’d learned and seen from him tonight, the realization melting the tension. Tears burned his eyes as he squeezed them shut, shoulders shaking as his hand fisted the fabric of the shirt she wore and a choked sound was torn from him.

She pressed herself even closer, tightening her own hold on him. “I’m here, John. I’m right here.” Her own voice wobbled with tears as she dropped a kiss to the crown of his head, “I’m right here.”

_I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you. I love you and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry._ He murmured the confession in his native tongue into her chest, a language he hadn’t spoken aloud since he’d left the reservation and hoped that one day he’d have the courage…the strength to tell how he truly felt before this war reached its climax.

Or maybe she already knew.

After all, Clarice never failed to surprise him.


End file.
